


The Eleventh Rooster

by gandalfthesassy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Death, F/M, Gore, M/M, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, TLR, Ten Little Roosters, Ten Little Roosters AU, mercenary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2885861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gandalfthesassy/pseuds/gandalfthesassy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten Little Roosters AU. A mastermind mercenary (the reader) and their employer are a murderous duo who plan the massacre soon-to-be-known as "Ten Little Roosters". But as the evening wanes on, the mercenary grows weary of their employer and makes a few changes to the plan. (WARNING: Contains "Ten Little Roosters" spoilers! Obviously, but just a warning.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Eleventh Rooster

**Author's Note:**

> Gender neutral reader that is bi/pan/maybe even asexual/just plain queer b/c the reader has attractions to a female character, a previous relationship with a male character, and pursues a new relationship with a different male character. Also, this contains (mild) gore and spoilers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the party, Barbara consults with a mercenary.

You smoothed out the sleeve of your sweatshirt, sitting next to your employer in a folding chair. You glanced around at the decorations for the party, wincing as you noticed the spelling on the banner but reminding yourself that most everyone at the party would ignore it after a moment of curiosity.

_So goes human interest._

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" she asked you, moving her hair out of her face.

"Yeah, it will," you assured her.

"Can I see the poem?"

You gave her a look of death. "Of course not. It's part of the suspense. If you're worried about my plan for next evening, don't be. You're not gonna die."

"But everyone else will?"

You smiled dreamily. "Per our agreement, yes. But not by my hands. I only do poisons."

"My end of the deal is that I get everyone after the first, right?"

"Exactly."

"Seems like I'm doing all the dirty work."

"You're doing the physical work, I'm doing the cleanup so we get away with it."

"Okay, then. So who's the first to go?"

"Obviously the person who wants to blackmail them. I've been supplying him with incriminating information for the few years I've been here. Even his dear Gavin's got blood on his hands. Remember Meg? He offed her a few weeks ago. So our first victim will--"

"Wait a sec, _our_ first victim?"

"Well, yeah. What kind of a mercenary would I be if only I took the credit?"

"But if we get caught--"

"We won't. I will. But when I do, I've got a plan. I always have a plan."

"Who's gonna read the poem?"

"The event organizer. I've always enjoyed Burnie's speaking voice."

"How do you know that?"

"He's kinda full of himself."

She shrugged. "Fair enough."

"You know what you have to do, right?"

"Distract Chris if he pulls out the sword--"

" _When_."

"Are you sure he will?"

"He's going to be a hobbit. After you suggested it to him, I overheard him mention it to Brandon, and he was set on it. Though he'll have to add something to make it formal."

"Okay. Distract Chris, and when you cut the lights, run to the hiding place."

"No, not yet. That comes when there's only a few left. First I want you to make sure Lindsay stays alive. We can't afford to have someone think she's the killer and pop her off early. She's gotta die by your method."

"Heh. Afford," she giggled.

"Goddamnit Barb," you groaned, and she laughed again. 


	2. Properly Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael goes down.

"He's properly dead! Gus, you killed him!"

_Oh, you fools. You have no idea who actually killed him. Spoiler alert: it was me! And it'll be the only murder I commit tonight._

As they began pointing fingers, you watched with waning interest as no one so much as turned an eye toward Barbara.

Perfect. If you were crazy, you'd join them in their little party.

"Ten little roosters all gathered to dine..." Burnie recited as if he were the killer. To the average sleuth, he would be, because who would be so good at reading the poem if they didn't write it?

Well, you. After all, you weren't that good of a public speaker. That's why you stayed silent.

You cut the lights after a signal from Barb. Everyone cleared out to various locations. When you turned them back on, Chris flailed his sword around in defense at nothing.

_So it begins._

 


	3. Not All Who Murder are Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader has a change of heart.

The sword glowed. You pushed your shoulders back. Showtime.

Chris turned his attention to you. For a moment you savored the power that the mask gave you: you felt the hunger, the bloodlust, the weapon...oh right, the weapon. You lifted the jerry can and your favorite lighter, flicking the fire on.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice frayed out in the face of death itself. You mouthed what you wanted, taking care to not vibrate your vocal chords. "I know what you want. It's written all over your face."

 _Yeah right_ , you smiled. _If only you could see my actual face, you'd be in denial._

"You wanna play a game of riddles in the dark."

Except you were definitely not Gollum, thank you. God, the only thing keeping you from murdering this poor nerd was your adherence to your poem. You spaced out until he held up his hand.

He had the fucking One Ring.

Oh my god, your plan was almost _too_ perfect. He was an even bigger fanboy than you'd originally planned. Man, if he hadn't been such an asshole to you while you were dating, you would let him live purely out of pity. You secretly enjoyed letting him think he had control. He never figured it out before, and definitely not now. You flicked off the lighter, intrigued but mostly trying not to fucking laugh at him. 

"I can tell by your smile that you want it."

 _I'm smiling because you're a fucking nerd_ , you declared in your head.

"Alright, answer me this: what is so fragile that it breaks the instant you speak?"

Seriously, this was too easy. You didn't have to speak - after all, your words would break the answer.

"Damnit! Silence, you're right!" Of course you were. You were always great at riddles. "You're good. Your turn. What do you have for me?"

 _Okay, how about this: who is so big of a nerd that he bought a replica of Sting the Sword that actually glows blue when evil is near?_ Well, hopefully the Ring didn't work as well, or your plan would go to hell.

"Oh, clever. You want me to guess what you're thinking. Alright, I'll play your game," he chuckled. You were starting to grow tired of this. "You're thinking..." He trailed off. He had no idea. He never did, honestly, and your minor head tilt made him nervous. "Pants!"

_Did he just say pants?_

For a moment you remembered the first time you two went home together. That was the one thing he struggled with, whereas yours were off quicker than he could remove his shirt. You'd always been just a little quicker on the draw than Chris.

_How appropriate._

"That was not a guess, that was me thinking aloud." _Definitely Bilbo, not Frodo_. "You are thinking...that you wish you had spaghetti for breakfast."

Oh. My. _God_. Was he even trying or did he have something up his sleeve?

"So what you're thinking is..." He trailed off again. You nearly crossed your arms, but he suddenly spoke again. "I know what you're thinking! You're wondering why every time people go out, they never invite you. Maybe you dress up in weird outfits and you're a skeleton man and maybe you do it because you feel safe." In the midst of accidental insults, a confession. "And that's perfectly normal. No!" He laughed, a deep, diaphragm-based laugh that bordered on unfunny. "You're wondering why whenever you go talk to girls, that they're creeped out by you."

_Wait, what?_

"And-and that whenever people give you advice, they say 'Oh, just be yourself, be yourself.' Oh, but maybe being yourself is the worst piece of advice people could ever give you 'cause girls are weirded out by that. That's what you're thinking."

_To a certain degree, yeah. But it's not just girls. For someone who dresses like a hobbit in public, you sure judged me for my love of masks._

"But, you don't--I mean--" He ran a hand through his hair and stared at you, ready to cry.

_This is it. I've got him right where I want him. Vulnerable but not quite crying. Crying's actually understandable. The victims need to be unapologetic, I need to be justified. They can't cry because then I'm the asshole. I'm not an asshole._

"Oh!" He laughed that manic laugh again, and your stomach flipped. You were supposed to kill this asshole, not hear his life story. "I know what you want! It's called a poker face! How about you learn how to make one?"

_Well, there's a reason I've got the mask on._

"You're wondering why it's your fault that your parents got divorced!"

_Fuck. He's gonna cry. If he cries, I have to let him live. Can't betray my one rule for one fucking job._

"But you know what? It's not your fault!"

You stopped breathing. After he'd blamed you for being weird, suddenly you weren't at fault. You almost believed him.

"Do you hear that? It's not your fault," he punctuated his words by pointing a trembling finger at you. "It's not your fault," he stepped towards you.

For a moment your fingers twitched, and you fantasized about dropping your gear, tearing off your mask, and kissing him like the last scene in a romantic comedy. But your fingers held fast, stopping your impulse at the gate. Those days were behind you. He didn't care about you in that way, and you'd resigned yourself to the thought of his last breath being something stupid and nerdy. At least, you hoped it would be.

"You hear me? It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either, Chris. I'm so sorry," you murmured so low that you weren't even sure you had said it.

"It's not my fault." Tears formed in his eyes as his voice thickened with guilt.

Oh fuck, it was about him. Parenting issues. Fuck fuck _fuck_ , you were gonna cry too.

"It's not my fault!"

He gripped you tightly and sobbed into your jacket. _Don't fucking cry. Don't you dare. You have to kill him._

_I can't fucking kill him. I can't be the one to do it._

"It's not my fault," he repeated, gripping the back of your head. You panicked for an instant, thinking he would remove the mask, but the moment passed. You awkwardly patted him on the back with your jerry can hand. "It's not my fault."

_No, it's not your fault. It never was. But fault doesn't matter in the game of life and death._

A name crossed your mind.

 _Boromir_.

You wrestled his arms off and stepped backwards before turning and walking away. Behind you, Chris sank to the ground and sobbed.

_I've got more important things to worry about._

As soon as one of the Gavins saw you, they would initiate the distress signal and run right to the mousetraps. You originally planned on Chris's demise being there, but a little rearranging wouldn't kill you.

It'd kill everyone else.

_Well, that was a bit dark._

You know, you never thought about the Agatha Christie connection. The Mousetrap, Ten Little Indians...yeah. Nice. Demented, but kinda funny in a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Chris to death. This episode fucked me up. This chapter fucked me up when I wrote it.


	4. Boromir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Burnie had a point, though. He didn't have to flail around like that.

“You found Gus?” You whispered to Barb as you tore off the jacket.

“Yeah, I did. He’s writing his poetry or whatever.”

“Perfect. My suggestions have been working,” you helped her put on both arms and put the mask over her face. “I feel kinda like Iago, actually.”

She lifted the mask. “Does that make me Roderigo?”

You blinked. “You’ve actually read that play?”

“I saw the movie when I was sixteen.”

“Close enough. Alright,” you moved a few boxes around and handed her the next weapon. “Operation Boromir is a go.”

“...riddles, he’s fucking good at them--”

“Come on, Chris! You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

Burnie fucking Burns. CEO of fucking Rooster Teeth and resident asshole to every nerd (even though he was probably a bigger nerd than practically everyone in the office). Honestly, if you were sloppy in your work you would’ve killed him off first.

You wished you had been sloppy.

_Whoa, okay, that was a bit much_.

“We’ve got a killer running around and you’re busy playing your Dungeons and Rings games?”

“No, Lord of the Rings came way before Dungeons and Dragons, let me tell you that--”

“Oh God. Oh no, please don’t tell me this stuff.”

_Shut the fuck up, Burnie, I caught you trying to say “You’re my t'hy'la” in Vulcan to Ashley two weeks ago_.

“The creature is out there. I saw him.”

“You’re saying he’s here now?”

“He could be, I don’t--”

“He’s over here?”

“I don’t know--”

“He’s over there? Chris, are you sure he’s here? Oh, well, maybe he found his pointy-eared buddies and the big tree dudes and they’re marching right now to go fight the fiery vagina that lives on top of the skyscraper?”

_Actually, an army wouldn’t be so bad to take Burnie down. It’d be preferable. An army...huh. Not a bad idea. If only I had a tank--oh wait, I do. Not literally, that would be mental. But it's pretty fucking close_.

“No, Burnie, that’s Sauron. He’s not a vagina.”

“You’re not a hobbit, okay?”

_You’re right, Burnie. He’s not a hobbit. He’s Boromir._

You were going to fucking relish killing Burnie. Fucking asshole, piece of shit--

Wow, okay. Now you were starting to genuinely hate people. You weren’t supposed to form emotional attachments, you were just supposed to take out key figures. Then again, with Chris you’d already failed. But as soon as Barb emerged, your failure would vanish.

You nudged her and nodded.

Chris had drawn his sword. It glowed blue, but that was only because you waited by your eyehole in the wall close enough for it to light up.

“Chris, look out!” Burnie cried.

_You hypocritical son of a bitch_ , you scoffed. _First you tell Chris that he’s a fucking dumbass nerd and now you’re defending him?_

“No!” As expected, Chris jumped in front, taking the arrow to the chest. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as he flailed around.

“You have a sword, he’s far away…”

_Yeah, Burnie, clearly you don’t understand the shock of being hit by an arrow. Actually, it’s more funny than anything else_.

Why did you suddenly find death humorous? Since when was the death of the one person who you trusted more than anything (except with the mercenary thing, obviously) funny?

Chris collapsed on the ground after suffering two more arrow hits. Burnie sighed (in relief? man, he was more messed up than you!) but immediately regretted it when Chris got up and continued his death. You snickered and slammed your hand over your mouth. As soon as he had gotten up, Barbara disappeared around the corner and found you. She tore off the mask.

“Perfect,” she praised herself, “don’t you think?”

“Shut up, I think Chris is gonna have some profound last words or whatever,” you hushed her, still looking through the hole.

“Can I see?

“Fine,” you sighed and moved to the side. You turned your good ear to the sound of the two men talking.

“...but on the plus side, we have all their arrows,” Burnie finished.

“Burnie,” Chris whispered.

“Yeah, Chris?”

“I would have followed you…”

“A Tolkien quote,” Barb identified.

“What else?” you rolled your eyes.

“My brother…”

“Okay, okay,” Burnie sighed.

“My captain--”

“Okay, I’m done,” he took off and disappeared into another room.

“My king…” Chris gargled and breathed out one last time.

“Arrows are surprisingly effective,” was all Barb felt like saying.

“Not only effective, but ironic. It’s fascinating how a lot of these deaths tend to be dependent on things that the victims have in their possessions or on their minds.”

“It’s almost like the killer thought of that,” she pulled away from the hole and smiled at you proudly. You smiled back.

“Well, they most definitely did,” you basked for a moment in the glory. “Now, just to double-check, you released and tamed the scorpions, yes?”

“Right before I met up with Lindsay.”

“Excellent! So she’ll be paranoid and want to hide. And in hiding, she goes just a little bit insane. Just enough for the cat.”

“What cat?”

You smiled, thinking of your surprise. “You’ll see. I’ll tell you more when the time is right.”

“Is it Joe the Cat?”

Your gaze darkened. “More like Puma the Cat.”

Her eyes lit up. _So Barbara really likes murder._ As if you didn't get that from her idea about the riddles, but still. “You got a puma?”

“Well, it followed Joel to the office, so I put it downstairs. If anyone’s down there, act natural.”

She picked up her bowling pin and went to go find the big cat. You pulled a green bodysuit out of a box and donned it, making sure your chest looked masculine to create confusion.

Now, where was not-Edgar...


	5. An Unexpected Burnie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something had to happen to make Burnie actually worried about his own safety. The reader is that something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was like, "Should I make a pun?" And of course I thought "yes". So have a really terrible pun. Yay!

"What the fuck?"

You froze, turning to look at Burnie, who blinked upon seeing your face. It occurred to you, only in that moment, that you stood between him and the path to his office, where you'd left your gun.

_Oh fuck._

"Hey, Burnie," you attempted a relaxed but concerned expression.

"(y/n), how the fuck are you not dead yet?"

"Dead? Wait, what?"

"Where have you been this whole evening?"

"Uh, locking up."

"A likely story."

"Well, where have you been? I mean, I understand getting drunk and not wanting to go home, but it's pretty late. I think even drunk Burnie would be asleep right now."

"You mean, you didn't see all that happened at the party?"

"Did I miss someone taking their shirt off?"

Burnie gaped at you, somehow shocked at your insensitivity but woefully unaware of his own. You stopped yourself from snickering. "You missed Michael dying and us getting locked in and--wait a second. How come there were eleven of us present and there are only ten in the poem?"

"Simple. I'm not the killer. But I can tell you who is."

"How do you know who it is if you're not the killer?"

"I'm not _the_ killer. I killed Michael - I only do poisons and indirects. Barb's the killer."

"Actually, that makes sense. She always seemed kinda nuts to me." You nodded in agreement. "But wait, if you know who's gonna die when, then when am I gonna die?"

"Why the fuck would I tell you? That's like the biggest rookie mistake that every villain makes. But not me. Mostly because I'm not a villain." 

"When am I gonna die?" 

You let out a laugh and turned to walk away. As you did, you called back: "Oh, by the way, Michael: I don't like the things you said to Chris. I'd pray like hell if I were you."

"Why the fuck did you call me Michael?!" you heard Burnie call from behind you. Very soon, a scorpion would find him less than amusing and sting him. You always liked his death in Red vs. Blue. But you initially had decided to wait, to let the suspense build. Now, the wait was over. 


	6. My Name is Gustavo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Baby Gus was an accident, Big Gus was an embarrassment.

“Get a load of this,” you muffled a laugh as you pulled Barb aside. She donned the jacket and held the mask as you pulled up a live feed of Gus in the room next to you. He was tapping away at his keyboard. You switched cameras to a livefeed of his computer screen. Dramatically, you read out the poem. As you went on and on, she giggled harder and harder until she had to bury her face in your shoulder as you read.

"You know, I would go kill him myself, but I feel like you should have the honors. I mean, it's only fair."

"We should confine Gus more often," she joked.

"So he can tap into his 'feminine mystique'? No thanks," you rolled your eyes. You suddenly noticed her staring at you. "Something wrong, Dunkelman?"

She shrugged. "Never noticed how good you looked in low lighting."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I like you."

"I'm pretty sure that's a symptom of Stockholm Syndrome."

"You're not a captor. I knew you before this."

"Before you knew about my mercenary business, the only words you ever said to me were, 'Your nose is bigger than Gavin's,' and, 'Get this to me by Friday noon'."

"Is it still Stockholm Syndrome if an employer falls in love with her employee?"

"Depends. Do you feel creeped out by your attraction to me?"

"Not really." She pecked your lips with hers and smiled. "I still think you're great."

"Even though I'm a crazy bonkers killer?"

"I've killed more people than you have," she linked her fingers with yours.

"Yeah, right."

"I have, though."

"Wait, really?"

"You remember Blaine?"

"I thought you were kidding when you said you--oh. Wait. You weren't kidding." She shook her head. "Holy shit. You actually killed him?"

"Well, yeah. He was an obstacle."

She definitely liked murder! "Remind me not to get in your way."

"You? Nah. You're fine." You blushed. "Come on. Our whole purpose is to get in people's way."

"Yeah, but only at the right time." She kissed your cheek before putting the mask on again. "Chris was right. You do look like a skeleton man." She lifted the mask long enough to stick her tongue out at you, making you laugh. You switched to various other cameras. "Pitchfork?" She picked it up. "Go ahead. Gus is through that door. It'll be funnier if you knock." She lifted her mask, giving you a puzzled look. "You'll see what I mean."

"Are you sure you're not clairvoyant?"

"Don't know her," you walked off, your mind muddling with thoughts of your victims so far.


	7. Red Like Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barb likes startling people. A lot.

You hunted around for your Ruby Rose costume. Well, okay, it wasn't your costume. It was Lindsay's. And you weren't super into RWBY. But it looked fucking hot on you.

"If you're looking for Ruby's battle skirt, Miles got to it first."

You jumped and turned around. Barb smiled at you. "Jesus, Barb, you gotta stop doing that."

"Fuck that. I'll stop when you stop plotting murder."

"That's not a fair trade at all. Murder is my business. For you, it’s just a hobby."

“Try me.” She walked up and kissed you on the lips.

Too short, too sweet. Your hands caught either side of her face and you practically smothered her with your lips, imagining the two of you on huge piles of money. God, what a thought. Having money and love? Too good to be true.

_But you know what?_ you thought. _Fuck it!_  For one goddamned moment, you relished it. Barbara kissed back, her mouth a toxic combination of champagne and breath mints.

When the two of you came back up for air, a fit of manic laughter seized you. It caught Barb as well, and it quickly turned to cackling. You were enjoying the shit out of this.

"Just let your worry go," she suggested. "When you give in to the madness, it all becomes clear."

In that moment, you did.

But as she ran to pick up the computer mouse and the mask and jacket, you did your best to ignore what your inner madness really wanted. It wasn't fame, not fortune, and it definitely wasn't  her. You absolutely adored her, but more in the way a puppy loves their owner. You didn't want to be a servant. You wanted someone so far out of your league that you wondered if they would even notice you.

And they were still alive.

You wanted to rule. 

_Red like roses fills my dreams...yellow beauty burns gold.._.


	8. Kitty Kitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader has a change of heart. Barb doesn't approve.

She tripped the puma wire too early.

You winced in anticipation as you watched her notice the puma. You pondered for a moment why the puma you'd gotten from Joel had a mane.

Then it dawned on you.

It was a lion.

_Well, shit._

You watched on the video feed as Barbara tamed the puma with robotic calmness. It turned to Miles, unable to get through the chainlink fence, then to Ryan.

You braced yourself for your plan to go to hell, but the puma simply sniffed him and turned instead to Lindsay as she coaxed it away from him. Your sigh of relief covered her cooing towards the puma. Moments later, her body parts flew through the air. As soon as you saw her head fly, you took off. Barb hit Ryan upside the head with her cat piano, making sure it wouldn't kill him (yet). She checked on Miles but found him passed out from the trauma.

When you reached the room where they were, you rushed over to help Barb carry knocked-out Ryan to his final resting place. You slipped off his tie and bound his hands. You neglected to tell Barb that the tie knot would fail the instant Ryan put up any resistance. 

Part of you wanted that to happen.

You also neglected to mention that she'd left her precious cat piano. If only she hadn't tamed the puma...

"Are you gonna help me carry Ryan?" she held out her arms, trying to lift him.

You shrugged noncommittaly. "You wanna kill him, you carry him."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" She dropped Ryan's torso on the ground and minimized the space between you two. "Are you telling me he's not gonna die? It's in the poem, I was gonna set him up. Let me have something for once."

"Well, I did say 'the killer was killed', and you are the killer."

"Why can't it be you?!" Barb lunged for your neck with her hands. Your hands grabbed her wrists. You weren't necessarily stronger than her, but her eyes bugged out in surprise.

"Because I'm doing my fucking job," you dug your fingernails into her skin, "and you should uphold your end of the bargain."

"If Ryan doesn't die, then you will," she kept back cries of pain. "I'll fucking kill you." 

You lessened the grip but kept your hands firm on hers. "I didn't live through a firefight in Los Angeles to be taken down by an amateur in Austin."

"Who are you calling an amateur?"

"You let Michael find out that you killed Blaine."

"That was part of our plan, wasn't it?"

You shook your head. "I didn't tell him about you. I told him about everyone else."

"I am going to tear your spine out through your mouth." 

"How do you expect to do that?" 

Suddenly, she slammed her mouth on yours, catching you off guard. However, you recovered in time to shove her back.

"What, a cyanide pill?" you spit out the instrument of death. "How predictable. And in your attempt to find my weakness, you've exposed your own. Not the best thing for a serial killer to reveal."

"I wasn't the one who came up with this!" she reminded you loudly. You shushed her, pointing at the two unconscious roosters. "I'm taking Ryan with me. And I'm taking the creeper suit. If you come after us, I'll kill you."

"I don't doubt it."

You watched her drag Ryan out the door. You pulled something from the side of the room and dragged Miles beside it. You had work to do.


	9. Can You Keep a Secret?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...And then there was one.

"You're kidding me."

You laughed darkly under your mask as Miles finally noticed you from his position on the treadmill. He tensed his fingers in fear. His knuckles went white as he realized he couldn’t move.

"Barb? Is that you?"

You tilted your head.

"Oh, so it's Ryan. Okay! So you're actually a killer and not just insane. Okay, cool. Could you do me a favor and not kill me? Per the poem, the killer gets killed and then there's one--" He shut his mouth. "Wait a sec, I don't think the math's right. Hold on, so choked on his rage, one tripped, one martyr, one to scale, got what they wanted...wait, I skipped a few."

"Oh my god, shut up!" you yelled in exasperation, removing your mask. Miles gasped. "Jesus Christ, Miles, you really thought either of those fuckers was capable of multiple murders? God, I almost wish I'd killed you earlier. You think you're some kind of hero, but you're just a dude wearing a skirt that really doesn't flatter him. Honestly, you'd look better in all black, but that's just my opinion as a mercenary."

"(y/n)? You're a mercenary?"

"Yeah, I am. How do you think I set everything up? Where do you think I got all the weapons? How do you think I planned it?"

"Wait, how'd you get in? How come we didn't see you at the party?"

"I wasn't at the party. I was in here, guarding the puma. Barbara ended up using it after all."  

"Wait, so Barb's okay?"

"Oh yeah, she's fine. We did all this together."

Miles nodded. "Okay, so it's a conspiracy. That seems very Chris."

"No, he's dead."

"Oh."

"Yeah, practically everyone's dead except you, Ryan, and Barb."

"Oh, okay. So you're not gonna kill me."

"Well, I'm not." You smirked.

"What?"

"Don't worry about it. Once she kills you, I'll kill her. I'm bored of her anyway. You can die knowing that you'll be avenged. Everyone will. Don't you worry." You tapped your earpiece. “Alright, _Punkelman_ , cue the video,” you put the mask back on. Miles struggled a little longer before giving up. 

“I told you not to call me Punkelman,” she barked back at you. You heard a faint laugh from her end and raised an eyebrow. “Shut up, Ryan! I’m trying to monologue!” Wait, how had she not killed Ryan yet?

“You can’t monologue yet, Barbara,” you rolled your eyes, looking up at the camera. “That comes after.”

“Wait, Barb’s gonna monologue?” Miles wondered.

“I already did, where the hell have you been?” Barb demanded.

“Wait, Barb, who are you talking to?” you heard Ryan ask on the other end.

“Shut up! Everybody, shut up!” she finally yelled, losing her cool for the only time that evening. You went forward and pressed up on the treadmill. “Wait, what the fuck?” This wasn’t part of the plan. Not your plan with her, at least.

But it was your plan. _For now, that is._

You faded back into the shadows, watching Miles run faster and faster until the belt went so fast that it killed him. You still weren't sure how - you weren't completely sold on the idea - but when Barb convinced you that it was a pun, you gave it a shot. And it worked. In another universe, you'd laugh at a movie for actually killing someone off this way. 

Barb muttered. "That wasn't supposed to--fuck it. Fuck it! He's dead anyway." You rushed through the halls, hearing Barb monologue a little longer until you heard Ryan escape.

You began to sing softly, unsure if anyone could hear you. "Swore you'd never tell...Got a secret, can you keep it, swear this one you'll save! Better lock it in your pocket, taking this one to the grave. If I show you then I know you won't tell what I said, cause two can keep a secret if one of them is dead."

But when you arrived at the Podcast room, no one was there. You heard Ryan ask about the creeper suit, Barb muttered something, and you heard one sentence that assured you that no secrets would escape.

"It's rigged with explosives."

Not long after, you tore your earpiece out in pain from the static.

You had won. Your favorite had survived. You had even taken care of your employer, and now you could have anything you wanted.

_ And by anything, I mean anyone.  _

_I really have to stop narrating._


	10. Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crownless again shall be king...and the king happens to be really fucking attractive, and your potential love interest is dead. What else is a mercenary to do?

You were about to unlock the front door when you heard a voice.

“(y/n)?”

You turned around. You froze like a deer in the headlights. Ryan stared at you in shock, blinking hard in the Austin morning sunlight. "Ryan, what were you doing in there?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I left my keys at my desk?" He raised an eyebrow. "Corporate espionage? I wanted to get here early? I dunno, I like being in the office alone," you snarked, distracting him from his curiosity. "None of your business."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Holy shit, you scared me," he sighed and threw his arms around you. Unlike Chris's hug, there was no desperation. You ducked out of the embrace. Does he look disappointed? "I thought you were dead."

"Wait, what? What's going on? Why are you so freaked out?" Like you didn't know, of course.

"I...do you have your phone with you?"

You checked your pockets. "Oh fuck." You met his eyes. "I left it in the car. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," he waved his hand in dismissal, "Wifi's been turned off anyway." He avoided your gaze.

"What's the matter?"

"Let's go into the AH office, and I'll explain."

"I don't have keys to every door in the building."

"I do." He reached into the inside of his suit jacket and produced a key ring. He handed it to you and gently pushed you towards the door.

"What's the hurry?"

"I need to tell you this now," he urged.

"Ryan, any confessions of love should be made while drunk off your ass," you declared, unlocking the front door and walking through the hall.

"What? No. I'm just afraid you'll think I'm nuts or something. Sorry, is that a fucked up thing to say?"

You opened the door to the Achievement Hunter office and stepped in. Ryan darted in, slamming his back against the door to shut it. "Ryan, what the fuck's going on? Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"

“We’ve lost a lot of very important people in Rooster Teeth.”

“What do you mean, lost? What the fuck are we doing in here if they're lost? Let's go find them--"

“They’re dead!" You feigned shock. "Chris, and Michael, and-and Gavin and Lindsay and Gus and Miles and Adam and Burnie and--”

“Holy shit. How did that happen?”

“It’s in the poem,” he sunk down onto the couch. You matched his level and lowered your voice.

“What poem?”

“Ten little roosters gathered to dine, one choked on his rage and then there were nine.”

“That’s...basically a rip off of Ten Little Indians.”

“You know what it is?”

“I love Agatha Christie, but I don’t approve of people who rip her off and use it for real murder. That's fucked up." You stared at him a moment, making him squirm defensively.

"Don't look at me like that. You're making me worried."

"Who, you?"

"Shut up. The last thing I need is some bystander looking at me and assuming that, like, I’m the killer.”

"Oh, no, you're totally not the killer," you told him quickly. "Don't worry."

"How do you know that? You just got here."

“Did I?”

"What?"

You grinned. "Check it out." You held your hand out in front of you. What you held in your grip made Ryan's curiosity fade into shock.

"So you were the one who killed Miles.”

“I was following orders. The treadmill was Barbara's idea. The only times I wore the suit were in the beginning, in case anyone ran into “the killer” before they got to their death area, and right when you saw me. It was me in the creeper suit, by the way. Barb thought it’d be funny to wear it that last time, but she paid the price. I mean, she wanted to frame you, but uh, she got too cocky. I just wanted to freak you out the first time I wore it. You didn’t look to see who it was even when you knocked my head off!"

"Okay. Why'd you poison my coke can?"

"Didn't poison it. Spiked it. Poison kills, spiking involves blacking out."

"Then why'd you put me in the hole?"

"Irony, I guess. Maybe to keep Barb from getting any ideas. Not really sure why, to be honest." You shrugged, tossing the mask on the ground. "I knew you would get yourself out, anyway. A Haywood never surrenders. That also covers murder, I guess. Not this murder, but the others." Ryan shook his head, still trying to process everything.

"But how did you get in at all? I mean, Burnie said he only let nine people into the building."

"He only let nine in, but I was here before him. I've been here since the party. Burnie and Barb knew I was here. I was part of the planning committee, actually. Who do you think made the banner?"

"I mean, you're not the best speller, I guess that makes sense. But if you're the killer, who did I kill?"

"My employer.”

“I didn’t know Barb worked in pairs.”

“She doesn’t. We’ve hung out a lot in the past few months. She talked about wanting to cut the company down to size. Lot of testosterone, she claimed. But I know the real reason is because she likes murder as much as I claim to. When she found out about my side business, we got to talking, and we figured out that it would be lucrative to sell secrets and inherit the company. But I always knew she would turn on me. You see, it was never an equal partnership. Barbara always had to be stronger, be creepier, be punnier than me. She thought the killing was to gain notoriety or whatever that word means. She had a bit of a God complex, honestly. Lindsay hit the nail on the head with that one. But honestly, I did it to get rid of her. And some people I didn't really like. As you can see, you were in that category until just now."

"Wait, why did you tell me all of that? That's basically a confession."

"And why would you turn me in? I mean, if you were implicated in not only one murder, but, god, what is it, nine murders now? With your record? You'd essentially confine yourself to solitary confinement. Wow, what a great metaphor. Anyway, you have nothing to gain by revealing this incident. Technically, you were supposed to die, but I changed my mind because Barb was a lunatic. I can do that, you know. I’m not all-powerful, but I am pretty fucking awesome." You smiled proudly.

"This feels suspiciously like something out of a mystery movie."

"Oh yeah, no, I definitely watched "Clue" before this. Great movie, by the way. Clever."

"That would explain the lying. So...I was never actually a target?"

You shook your head. "Never."

"So why shouldn't I kill you now?" he stepped closer to you.

"Because I only killed three people: Burnie's partner, Michael, and Barb."

"Give me a better reason," he insisted.

"Fine." You stepped forward and grabbed his lapels, pulling him almost to your face. When he noticed that your distance was mere inches, his breath caught in his throat. You smiled. Oh man, you had more control of Ryan than you did during all the deaths.

"I think you can guess, Mad King," your eyes darkened.

"Fuck, don't look at me like that unless you're gonna kiss me."

"What?" You feigned confusion. He immediately stammered.

"I-I mean--"

"You know, you look fantastic in that kilt, but I bet I'd prefer the view if I saw it from underneath." His eyes went wide. "Unless, of course, you're still interested in murder..."

"Murder can wait," his shock switched to lust. He wrapped his arms around your neck, a hand behind your head, and mashed his lips against yours. It wasn’t the most refined of kisses, but hell if it didn’t electrify every nerve in your body. You kissed back. You murmured into his mouth, "Turn around." Out of your pocket, you pulled a dark-colored tie, the one Ryan had decided against, given his shirt.

He gave you a suspicious look. “Where’d you get the tie?”

"Don't look. I have a surprise for you."

He obeyed, turning his back to you. Your hands rested on his shoulders and you pushed him to his knees. You tied the tie around his eyes, kissing the top of his head affectionately when you finished. "You've outsmarted me, and while I would normally be angry, this isn't exactly a normal circumstance." You walked around him, keeping a hand on him at all times. "They call you the Mad King. But Burnie had a point. Letting your subjects die at the hands of me, your enemy? That does make you a shitty king."

"You're not my enemy."

"No? Then how come the minute you got out of the chamber, you gave it both middle fingers?"

"How is that a statement against you?"

"I put you there."

"You're not my enemy."

"And why can't I be?" you asked of him, your voice dropping sharply in volume. "The sex would be way hotter. Have you ever hate fucked? It's incredible. Hell, I bet you'd be perfect for it." Your suddenly raspy voice made Ryan shiver. "Aw, is the Mad King losing his grip?"

"You're not--I'm not--" he spluttered.

"You're the last one alive, Ryan, darling," you purred. "If you really wanna know why I left you til last, well, I've always had this little fantasy of post-murder sex. Don't act like you've never thought about it. I've seen your browser history. Also, I know you better than you think. Creepy, maybe, but you seem okay with it--"

"(y/n)," he groaned. Your eyes darted down to his crotch.

"Aw," you pouted. "Poorw Wyan.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

You dragged him back to his feet and whispered: "Don't be rude." You shoved him onto the couch.

_Did he just moan?_

"Is that what you want, Ryan?" you asked of him, kneeling in front of him and coaxing his legs apart. He shuddered at the feel of your hands on his inner thighs. "I like the kilt. Gives me easy access."

"What are you doing under m _ohhh_."

Your hands brushing his package shut him up.  _No undergarments? You tease._

"Did Barb get a look before you broke out?" 

"Dunno." He grasped at your hair and tried to pull you closer, but you steadied yourself. 

"Ah-ah," you corrected him, bringing your head up from under the kilt. "I could easily find some way to kill you, like an extra verse in the riddle."

"(y/n), please," he begged. 

"That's better," you straddled him, rubbing your crotch on his. He rested his hands on your ass, looking up at you with a passion you'd only seen in him when he questioned his sanity. Now it was for you. "You know what? Fuck it."

"Fuck  _me_ ," he grabbed at the hem of your shirt and pulled it off. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, threading your fingers through his hair. You swiftly moved his paper crown from his head to yours and coaxed him onto his back. 

"Sorry, babe," you laughed and kissed his nose.  "I gotta run. Some of your friends are gonna be here soon. Just play it cool and you won't get caught." 

You leapt up and threw open the door, pocketing the key ring. Ryan tore off the tie around his eyes and lunged, but you'd slammed the door and locked him in. "(y/n), what the fuck?" he yelled through the door. 

"Bye!" you called as you dashed out the back door to your car. You got in, mentally bidding Austin goodbye, and drove away. Someone noticed you leaving and waved to get your attention, but you turned your eyes to the road ahead, ready for your next life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to follow up with an alternative ending, I'd be more than happy to read it.


End file.
